Father Holmes
by septembermorn
Summary: Holmes has to take care of a baby and solve the mystery of their parents. Who knows what may happen. Please read and review. I would love suggestions and welcome criticism or any kind of comments. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

I had just returned home from a much needed holiday to find my friend entertaining one of the most unusual clients he ever encountered during his career at Baker Street.

I had left the steward to hand my trunks and luggage because I was anxious to see what sort of state Holmes might be in. Therefore, I made streaight for the sitting rooms. I hadn't seen Mrs. Hudson on my way up so she could not have prepared me for the most extraordinary sight that I beheld when I opened the door.

Holmes had been playing on his violin for he still held it at the ready in his hands. He paused momentarily to speak to someone seated on the sofa. But the client must have been a small person indeed because I could not see them over the back of the sofa.

"Mind you," he said pointing his bow at the object on the sofa, "you are nothing compared to the fine doctor; but you do listen rather well. However, I don't suppose that you have much choice in the matter." Holmes was watching his client, studying him or her. "I will be most happy when Watson returns. He should know what to properly do with you." He just stood there resigned watching his client.

So that was it then; the client must be injured and laying on the sofa. That would explain why I couldn't see them before. I moved further into the room to make my presence known. If the person was in need of medical attention, there was no time to lose.

The movement diverted Holmes' attention.

"Watson!" Holmes exclaimed. He discarded his violin on his writing table and rushed to meet me. "Watson." He repeated. "The good Lord is truly merciful to me to have sent you back to me. Its wonderful to have you back, Watson. I observe that the countryside did wonders for your health. You're looking quite fit, old chap." Holmes chattered away. Since he was talking so fast and so much, I figured that he was under the influence of his cocaine or the brandy, or he was letting his guard down briefly to show that he missed me.

With him standing right in front of me I could clearly tell that he must not have had a moments rest since my departure. His face was worn and his whole body showed his fatigue. And in his usually bright, piercing, grey eyes I could tell that he had been a couple days without sleep. That wasn't so unusual when he was working on one of his cases. However, it always concerned me to see him abuse himself that way. I knew that the mind and body both were sharper and more alert when they were well fed and properly rested. And I wondered just how much greater Sherlock Holmes could be if he only took the time and concentration to care for himself.

"Why thank you, Holmes. I must say I'm pleased to see you. I wish you could have joined me. It looks as though you could use some rest yourself."

"Ah, good ole Watson! Always looking after my well being. You are my one loyal companion."

I felt my face flush slightly at his rarely spoken opinion of me. It now sounded like he was buttering me up to something, but I was flattered all the same.

"Well, what seems to be the matter here?" I gestured towards the general direction of the sofa.

"Umm…..why don't you come in and see for yourself."


	2. Chapter 2

Holmes put his arm through mine and gently began pulling me into the front part of the room.

I hesitated. "I don't want to intrude on your affairs, Holmes."

"Nonsense!" He declared as he slowly made his way towards the sofa. "I was never more glad to have your aid. I rather imagine _it_ could use a doctor more than a detective at the present moment anyway."

I stopped short. It wasn't like Holmes to be so cold and abrasive towards a client.

"For goodness sake, Holmes. They are a human being, not an inanimate object." The shock I felt came through in my words. Holmes looked momentarily contrite from my scolding, but it quickly turned to scorn.

He slowly and deliberately took his pipe from his pocket and lit before he spoke. "My dear fellow, the thing is hardly inanimate for it is moving about constantly. However, I have my reservations on calling it human. Now come along, doctor."

Holmes' usual endless patience was wearing thin as he hauled me over to the sofa. With a grand wave of his hand as if to say 'this is the cause of my troubles at present,' he pointed to the object on the sofa.

There were a great many things that would have surprised me, but nothing more so than the tiny bundle that lay sleeping on its stomach.

I stood and stared for what seemed like hours before one coherent thought could enter my mind. It was a baby; a baby boy from the looks of it.

Somwhere in the back of my mind I had noticed that Holmes had backed away from the scene and was leaning against the hearth smoking his pipe like a smoke stack.

"Good heavens, Holmes!" It was my turn to exclaim. "It's a baby!"

He chuckled slightly. "Very good, Watson. The country seems to have increased your deductive prowess as well."

I looked at him, very nearly bursting with questions.


	3. Chapter 3

"Calm yourself, Watson. Your eyes are as wide as a stepped on bull frogs."

I moved to stand beside Holmes, leaning in to quietly ask, "What in the world is a child doing here of all places?"

Holmes raised his eyes brows at me. "Its not necessary to whisper, Watson. I don't think it would understand you even if it should hear. Besides, you make it sound like this is a bad place for children to be. Why the Irregulars are here all the time."

"Blast it, Holmes. This is a baby here, not one of your Irregulars. That child can't be more than 9 or 10 months old."

Holmes quickly fetched the medical bag that we kept in the sitting room for emergencies.

"Why don't you give it a complete examination while I tell you how it mysteriously showed up here."

I knelt down to my work as I eagerly and intently listened to my friend's strange tale.

"But 2 days ago," he began as he lit his pipe again, "Mrs. Hudson was called away by the death of her sister."

"Sister?" Said I, interrupting him. "I didn't know she has a sister."

"Well, she has; 2 of them in fact." He explained, slightly put out that interrupted him. "Only one of them remains."

"Good gracious." I mumbled to no one in particular. "The things one never knows about a person."

"Yes, yes. May I continue?" Holmes asked impatiently.

"Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, old chap." I returned to my examination as I waited for him to continue.

He patted my shoulder then moved to his favorite easy chair and sat down, leaning into it. "The very same night she was called away," he continued, "I heard a racket downstairs. It was too late for the general caller. I doubted very much that it was either you or Mrs. Hudson returning. I therefore reasoned that it was a prowler. By the time I had procured my stick and made may way downstairs, the person was gone. The only evidence I found of their presence was the child and a jimmied door lock. Nothing else was disturbed for I would have surely noticed it.

"Did you inform Lestrede?" It didn't occur to me how ridiculous my question had been to as of Sherlock Holmes until I had already spoken it.

"Hum!" Holmes got up and began his habit of pacing when he was frustrated. "Hang Lestrede. What would he have done but made an even bigger mess of things, all the while ridiculing me for having to play nursemaid? No, Lestrede is plenty lucky that I didn't take it and leave the whole problem with him." His eyes flitted to the baby.

"Yes, quite right." I was now holding the baby because I had awaken it with my prodding and instruments. "So the parents just left him here without an ounce of explanation. Why would they just leave it here?"

"Well, they did leave behind an unusual note that only adds to the mystery. Unfortunately, they left no instructions for what to do with it." Holmes watched from the fireplace as I tried to quiet the baby, which was squirming about in my arms and protesting. "However," he continued, "be that as it may, I'm not convinced that it was the parent or parents that left it."

"What makes you so sure, Holmes?"

"Take a look at this." He came to stand next to me and produced from his other pocket a small piece of folded paper.

I carefully set the baby back in its carrying basket and took the note with a rueful smile to Holmes, who was settling back into his chair.

"Is the mother claiming its your son or something, old man?"

I meant the question purely as jest but a small part of me did wonder at the possibilities.

Holmes glared at me with one of those 'don't-be-absurd' looks that dared me to take that thought any farther.

"No offence intended, Holmes. Just a joking question."

He sighed and his eyes softened. "I know, Watson. Yet as revolting as that idea may be, it would be an easier mystery to solve than this one appears to be."

"What do you mean? I had laid the note down and picked the baby up again. This time I was secretly searching for any trace of my friend in those tiny features.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you all for your kind reviews. They mean a lot to me and inspire me to keep writing. I have an idea of how this is all going to turn out but if anyone has any suggestions, I welcome them. I may change the story around to include them. Anyway, here is the next chapter, however short. I hope you enjoy it as well. Thanks!_

Holmes retrieved the note that I had laid down on the coffee table and returned to his easy chair. He then proceeded to read it to me:

"My dear Mr. Holmes:" he began, "I realize the terrible burden and mortification which I am so suddenly leaving to your care. However, it was necessary. You see my husband has gone missing. It was not unusual for him to disappear for a few days at a time, but it has been a month now. My husband was not the best of men but he cared for us as best he could. I now fear for his life. And, I also fear that mine may soon follow his now. I could not bear to make the child suffer for something which it had no part of. There is very little you could do for my own part, but I implore your kind services to find the child's, Peter, his proper home. I am greatly in your debt and most grateful to you. Mrs. George Carsdale."

"Well, what do you think of that, Watson?" Holmes asked when he finished and had folded it back up and returned the note to his pocket.

I considered it for a moment. "I'm not sure what to make of it all but it appears to me that this lady's husband disappeared, or ran off, and she found it too difficult to take care of the little fellow by herself so she had to send him away for whatever reason."

"There is no doubt in my mind that it was difficult for her, for that is all I have been doing for the past 2 days. However, is that really all you learned from this note?"

"Well, I…"

"For example," he began to explain, cutting me off, "this lady wasn't really alone. They may not have been so well off, but I think they were doing well enough to keep servants enough to help her. And this note was not written in haste as it would have been had the child been in immediate, mortal danger. And what mother could simply give up their child so easily without some sort of struggle or fuss? And for that matter, if she were so inclined to give him up, why not apply to an adoption agency or a relative instead of a detective?"

"I see what you mean, but what could possibly be her motivation for doing it?"

"I believe that there are 2 smaller mysteries all tangled up into the bigger one."

"Good gracious, Holmes. How are we to ever unravel it?"

"The only possible way, Watson; strand by strand until everything is in its proper place."

"But where to begin?"

The baby began whimpering in my arms. Holmes looked at the child, and then glanced at the clock on the mantle.

"Blast. I had almost forgotten." He declared to no one in particular as he hurried over to the table with his chemistry paraphernalia.

"What on earth are you doing, Holmes?" I was getting concerned that my friend had suddenly gotten the not-so-bright idea to try one of his absurd experiments on Peter. Instinctively I held the child closer to me, to protect it from such a fate.

Before he could answer, he was gone from the room. I heard him hurriedly run downstairs and in a few moments, rush back up and back into the room. He was carrying a small pan and a container of milk. He carried it over to where his Bunsen burner was already lit. Its relieved I was. However, the baby's whimpering had grown to cries and I was trying to quiet him because I could just imagine how that wreaked havoc on my friend's nerves. He was moving rather stiffly from the noise but he didn't show his irritation otherwise if it bothered him.

"The little thing prefers to eat on the hour. It is now ten minutes past." He explained to me.

"Well," I marveled. "How on earth did you know that?"

"Trial and error, my dear fellow." He said with a slight smile on his face.

For the next few minutes we were silent save for Peter's crying. I was trying to comfort him while Holmes concentrated on warming the milk. Then I watched in amazement as Holmes took one of my rubber medical gloves from my bag and put a pin hole in one of the fingertips and proceeded to pour the milk into the glove. He tied the wrist end and brought it over to where we were sitting.

He made no attempt to take the child from my arms but gently placed the glove finger with the hole in it in Peter's mouth. At first he didn't like it and refused to eat, but Holmes was firm. His lips were drawn into a thin line of determination. Moments later Holmes' persistence was rewarded with Peter sucking on the milk filled glove.


	5. Chapter 5

It didn't take long for little Peter to eat his fill. As soon as he was finished, I carefully placed him on my shoulder and began patting his back.

I stole a glance at Peter then at Holmes. My companion had re-lit his pipe and was scrutinizing the note once again.

"Now, more about this odd little problem on our hands." He commented after a few moments of silence. "I find another strange point of interest from this note. The woman writing it makes the business sound as if she were passing the problem along. She is certainly more concerned about her and her husband's welfare than the child's since she devotes the majority of the letter on the point. That seems to me to be uncharacteristic to the maternal instinct. The lady also speaks of young Peter there in a detached sort of way. What does all of that suggest to you, Watson?"

I thought a moment before I answered. I could only hope that what had occurred to me wasn't the truth.

"He wasn't wanted." I finally stated sorrowfully.

Holmes nodded thoughtfully. "Its possible; but we mustn't judge the Carsdale's to harshly for their decision in this case I think. It..."

I cut him off sharply, my physician and human instincts making my words sharper than necessary towards my friend. "Holmes, there is no reason to force a child into this world unwanted!"

"And deny him the right to life, Doctor?" Holmes asked unperturbed.

"Certainly not!" I softened my tone, resigned. "It's just cruel any way you view it."

"That it is, old chap. However, we digress. Now, why would he not be...wanted, as you put it?"

I was aware of the squirming, innocent little bundle in my arms.

"I can't imagine, Holmes." I admitted.

Holmes smiled marginally and mischievous light came into his eyes and I knew that he was about to drop a proverbial bombshell on me.

"It wasn't that he wasn't cared for as his rescue demonstrates. The lady obviously wanted him safe, no doubt. However, it was more because that it was because Peter is not Mr. And Mrs. Carsdale's own son."

I was dumbfounded. My mind hadn't concieved of the idea that he might have already previously been adopted. I had simply jumped to the most obvious conclusion.

"So he was adopted then?" I breathed.

"Yes, in a way."

We both sighed in relief.

Several days passed. It became a juggling act between Holmes dashing out to track down leads and my practice. If Holmes was out I looked after Peter and if I was out Holmes watched him. Homes was kind enough to take most of the night shifts as well, saying he was more accustomed to little or no sleep for days. I was grateful (when I actually got to sleep between Holmes' violin playing, his muttering, and Peter's crying), but still I worried for his health...and his sanity.

On the whole, however, Peter was a very good child. There were times when the irritation worked a great deal upon my friend's nerves. I could see the surpressed frustration, yet he never showed it in dealing with Peter. Holmes was always careful with him. After a while, I sensed that Holmes was slowly growing fond of the boy (until he got ahold of one of Holmes' pipes and decided to make a chew toy out of it), and in some ways Holmes' eager, ever curious mind was fairly fascinated with the young lad.

So it was when I came down to the sitting room rather late fore breakfast one morning. I had just entered the room after retrieving the morning paper and I saw a most alarming sight. Holmes' entire body was rigid and he was intently watching something as if it were the pinpoint of the universe.

I rushed to his side in an instant, immediately on the defensive.

"Holmes, what is it? What's happened?"

"Shhh!"

"For heaven's sake..."

"Quiet, Watson, quiet! He commanded in a low voice.

He pointed further into the sitting room and I followed his piercing, wondering gaze. Peter was attempting to stand using the settee as something to pull himself up with. After one failed attempt, Peter was successful and was standing on his own two feet. He was curiously looking about him as if from a totally new perspective.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you all for being so patient in waiting for this next chapter. I have had a brief interruption of life upon my writing. Hopefully I can have the mystery solved within the next chapter or two and will have them up for you all very soon. As always, comments, criticisms, and reviews are most welcome and inspiring. Thank you very much! Enjoy!

"Bravo!" Holmes congratulated clapping his hands. "He has already made several attempts. The successful outcome you were present to witness. However, whenever he did fail, that would set him off into a fit and it was all I could do to calm him down."

"Well, these things take time, Holmes."

"Still, he is a most determined individual. And that shows considerable potential if guided correctly."

Before I could ask Holmes what he had meant by that, we noticed that young Peter was wobbling. However, before he could fall yet again, Holmes strode over, snatched him up and put him on the sofa to amuse himself. And, characteristically, to forget that he had showed any emotion only moments before, Holmes went to the fireplace, lit his pipe and began pacing about the room. All the while he wore an indifferent mask upon his face as he thought.

I went over to where our breakfast was laid out. I sat at an angle from my normal position so I could still see Peter. Abruptly, Holmes stopped his moving about and removed his dressing gown and donned his overcoat and hat as he addressed me.

"Be a good chap, Watson, and watch him for an hour or two while I step out."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to try and find out more about his parents. Keep a sharp eye on him, Watson, I beg you."

By this time I had begun glancing over the headlines on the front page of the newspaper when Holmes came and patted my shoulder imploringly. When he had my attention, he leaned in closer to me so he could whisper.

"Now that the little monster has begun to stand, he will no doubt be getting into everything."

"Oh, really, Holmes." I said in the same half-joking tone. "It takes some time between the standing stage and eventually walking. Then they are running all about."

Holmes made a face. It wasn't chagrin nor was it disgust…but something in-between.

"Yes, well, let us hope we have this little matter cleared up before terror of that sort is unleashed."

I laughed aloud at Holmes' depiction. He made it sound as if it were a criminal that must be took down instead of a small, innocent child learning to grow up.

I knew that Holmes felt no ill will towards Peter, however, this whole business was growing trying for his great and orderly, analytical mind. It wouldn't have surprised me at all to know that Holmes was leaving just to get away from the flat for awhile just as much as he was going to make inquiries.

I pondered all of this as I returned to perusing the headlines.

Peter was wriggling restlessly on the sofa and Holmes had just walked out the door when my eyes fell upon a most alarming headline.

"Holmes!" I exclaimed.

The sudden noise startled Peter and he began to whimper, but I ignored it for a moment. Instead, I dashed to the door and called down the stairs.

"Holmes!"

I heard my friend turn and start running back up the stairs as he said, "Coming Watson!"

I ducked back into the sitting room and went to comfort the startled Peter.

Holmes then rushed back into the room looking this way and that for any sign of trouble. Finally his eyes settled on the two of us.

"Really, Watson! What the duce did you give alarm like that for? There's no danger. He merely wishes attention or some such. Surely you can handle that."

"No, no, Holmes." I was quick to correct him, dismissing his anger. "That isn't why I called you back." Holmes relaxed his ready-for-anything posture as he listened to me. "I called you back for this." I balanced Peter in one arm and grabbed the paper which I had absentmindedly put down beside me. I held it out to Holmes and drew his attention to the peculiar story in question.

"'CARSDALE COUPLE MURDERED'" He read aloud. He continued to read with keen alertness, mumbling to himself the entire time. "This is a very decided turn of events is it not, old fellow?" He asked when he had finished and pondered the matter a few moments.

"Indeed so. What does it all mean, Holmes?"

"That we have yet to ascertain. I can't say I surprised by this new development. I rather expected something like this to happen. However, it is imperative now that I go out and to stop by Scotland Yard along the way to see what I can find out from Lestrede without telling him too much of our own little involvement."

I managed as best I could all that day. I was relieved when I had a wire from Mrs. Hudson, informing us that she would be arriving back that evening. Holmes came in before our good landlady. From his appearance I gathered that he had had a busy but somewhat disappointing afternoon. His face was drawn down and he looked worn.

"What were you able to find out, Holmes?"

"Not enough, old fellow, not enough." He sighed as he sank himself down into his chair. "How has it been today?"

"Quiet for the most part. We received a wire from Mrs Hudson. She is due back sometime tonight but she didn't indicate when exactly."

"Well, that is good news at least." He commented somewhat grudgingly and in and offhand sort of way. He was concentrating on studying Peter again.

"What is it, Holmes?" I asked, growing a little concerned.

It was a few minutes before he answered me. "There is something about this business that I can't quite put my finger on. Something that is probably so obvious that I have overlooked it but for the life of me I can't figure out what it might be. And to be quite honest with you, it's frustrating the fool out of me."

"Well it is a rather unusual case." I said trying to pull him out of his gloom. "There are bound to be twists and turns everywhere. You've done far better than I could have in sorting this thing out."

"Come now, Watson. I'm in no humor to argue with your self-depreciation. You are quite astute yourself when you put your mind to it."

Just then there was a soft, familiar knocking on our door.

"Come in, Mrs. Hudson." Holmes called out as he stood. I couldn't help notice that he positioned himself in the line of sight between the door to the sofa. Whether he wanted to prepare Mrs. Hudson for our 'little surprise,' or whether he didn't wish her to know at all I had no way of knowing. But as always, to support him and his unusual ways, I stood as well and placed myself in a similar blocking fashion from her seeing Peter.


	7. Chapter 7

As Mrs. Hudson came into the room, it was apparent that she had come to our rooms first to see how her two most difficult tenants faired. If we were still alive and well here with nothing destroyed, then it would be reasonably safe to assume that the rest of Baker Street was as well. Although it was equally apparent that she had not seen her kitchen yet as she was far too pleasant for that scenario. (Holmes has an acute aversion to dishwater.) The good landlady still had all of her travel garments on. Her eyes were weary looking but, under the circumstances, quite cheerful.

"Mrs. Hudson, I can't tell you how good it is to have you back again. I trust that you are quite alright now." Holmes said as he intercepted her and took her hand in his, turning his unusual charm on. He was either buttering her up for the kitchen fiasco or for the shock of Peter.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Holmes. I'm very well, thank you. My sisters and I weren't particularly close."

Thinking of our little charge I stole a glance over my shoulder to check on him. He was amusing himself with various items on the sofa. If Holmes was trying to keep him a secret for the moment, I was afraid that at any moment Peter would….do just that…he let out a cry.

Mrs. Hudson immediately took notice. She looked in my direction. I felt like a child again trying to hide a broken vase or other precious piece of furniture behind me from the discovery of my parents.

"Mr. Holmes," she began sharply, "was that…"

"That was my latest client, my dear Mrs. Hudson." My friend hastily explained as he gently, but firmly escorted Mrs. Hudson out of the room. "It is getting rather late and I'm sure you are tired after your journey. I suggest that you go settle yourself back in and rest for tonight and we can talk more at length in the morning." He continued smiling at her and patting her back. She made a face as she was ushered out of the room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson." He quickly added as he closed the door before she could object.

"Holmes, how could you not tell her the truth when she could plainly figure out that there was a baby in the room?" I questioned.

"I was perfectly serious about getting some rest, Watson. It will be a long day tomorrow and we have a lot of explaining to do to Mrs. Hudson. I advise that you get to bed as well, old fellow."

I certainly wasn't going to argue him on that point. "And what about you, Holmes?"

"I'm going to have a pipe or two over this intriguing little problem that we've got on our hands." He gave a rueful smile. "I'd like to offer Mrs. Hudson an explanation containing a little more than what little we have."

So it was that I left Holmes seated in his armchair puffing away at his pipe staring at Peter with that same fixed and questioning gaze, his frustration plain on his features.

I had gone to bed turning our bizarre situation over and over in my mind. I tried to look at it from every possible angle and to apply any of my friend's methods to find some sort of clue. I considered the little things that he deemed so important in any investigation but I confess that I could find no possible theory to fit all of the facts that we knew. My only guess would be that the Carsdale couple had adopted this child only a short time ago and were not completely attached to it as yet. That would explain giving it up so easily. And for some reason they foresaw their own murder. Thus, not being heartless fiends they give the child the only chance they can imagine, by sending him away. But why had they sent him to a detective and not back to the original parents? Or to an adoption agency? Or to another relative? Were the circumstances of their murder possibly so shameful that they had to conceal it? Then it would be madness to thrust the matter before the most determined investigator that ever lived. This is as far as I had gotten when I finally drifted off to sleep just as bewildered as before. I could only hope that by morning Holmes would have struck upon that one detail to follow to a solution that was so lost on me.

I rose earlier than usual the next morning, anxious to get down to the sitting room. When I arrived just outside the door, a low chuckle met my ears. I knew in an instant that it was Holmes and that it was the sound of triumph. This sparked hope in me yet as I made my way further into the room.

Peter was on the settee having his breakfast (from an actual bottle that Holmes made me go purchase when we had run out of my medical gloves). Holmes was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace with his usual energy that was just bursting to be spent. But this energy sprung not from frustration. From his worn face and the amount of smoke in the room I could easily tell that he had been awake all night.

"Ah, Watson, you're early this morning." Holmes greeted me cheerily when he noticed me standing there.

He gestured for me to take a seat in the old armchair. As I did so I could stand the strain no longer and asked him,

"Holmes, have you come up with a clue?"

"More than that, my dear fellow, I've solved it." He said with a wave of grandeur. He couldn't help smiling at my no doubt astonished expression.

"But how in the world could you have solved it?"

"Now, now, Watson; that's not very flattering to my vanity you know." He sat down on the other side of the settee and watched Peter.

"Of course I don't doubt you or your powers, Holmes. But I don't understand how you could have solved such a tangled up affair just by sitting in here all night. I turned the case over in my own mind half the night and couldn't come up with anything that could possibly help."

"You were at a disadvantage, old chap. You were in your room."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

It was several minutes before Holmes pulled himself from his absorbing thoughts with a sigh and turned to me to explain. He stretched himself out and placed his fingertips slowly together.

"I'm afraid that if I explain myself fully, it will disillusion you, my dear friend, to whatever powers you think that I possess. And if you should ever be inclined to write an account of it, I should be in very grave danger of losing my practice."

"How do you mean, Holmes? I see nothing that you could have possibly done wrong. In fact, you've just admitted to solving the case. What harm is there in that?"

"Ah, my faithful Boswell. It is true that I've solved it. There are only one or two points that still need clearing up later on. However, if I had only observed what I should have in the beginning and put two and two together, this little problem of ours would never have caused us so much frustration."

"You've completely lost me, Holmes."

"The murdered couple did send the adopted child to a relative."

I sat up straight in my chair, almost choking my before breakfast pipe.

"Good heavens! You don't mean Mycroft had a child that was adopted?"

Holmes threw back his head and laughed heartily at my suggestion.

"No, no, doctor. What I mean is that the Carsdale's ingeniously killed two birds with one stone. They sent the child into the care of a relative and indirectly into the way of a detective that could clear the matter of their death. Last night as I sit here thinking over the matter and watching our young friend here, I chanced to notice that he made the same face that Mrs. Hudson did yesterday. In that instant I realized the family resemblance. You will remember in that case of the Baskervilles' that I mentioned the peculiarities of family strains and how it was so instrumental in securing the guilt of Stapleton."

"Yes, yes, of course. So you mean that Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Carsdale were sisters then?"

"Precisely. They were both married and therefore had changed their names, and that no doubt put us off track for a time." Holmes admitted somewhat bitterly. "Is there anything else that puzzles you?"

"You told me that Mrs. Hudson left for her sister's funeral the afternoon _before_ Peter arrived."

"Obviously he was placed in the temporary care of a confederate who was under strict orders to bring him here. The couple was killed shortly thereafter because as you observe Mrs. Hudson had already received news of her sister's death. The next of kin is always the first notified."

"And what about the couple's murder?"

"I have formed a few opinions upon that point, but I haven't the facts yet to know if they are true. We had best be going down to the scene of the crime and take the hand of the good inspector Lestrade and help him clear up his little mystery. But all of that will have to wait until after breakfast and we break this startling news to Mrs. Hudson. Come in Mrs. Hudson."

The landlady had arrived at our door with our breakfast.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." Holmes said.

"Good morning, gentlemen." She responded rather coldly. Holmes and I exchanged a glance. This wasn't going to be easy. I rather expected that Holmes would need all of his charm now.

Somehow he caught the drift of my thoughts and proceeded to act on them by becoming as charming as he possibly, and believably, could muster.

"My dear Mrs. Hudson, you must accept my most humble apologies for the unnecessary destruction of your kitchen and my apparent rudeness last evening. I would have presented you with some flowers or some other such trifle to make proper amends but I haven't had the opportunity of stepping out of doors yet this morning." His speech was slowly working its magic on the poor woman and a small smile was on her lips. "As you can see," he continued, "that I desperately need you and Watson around to keep me in my proper place."

"That you do, Mr. Holmes; and don't you ever forget that!" She said severely, wagging her forefinger at him playfully.

"I should wish that Moriarity took me rather than to have to stay angry with me, Mrs. Hudson."

"Harrumph! That is only because I fix your meals and it's too expensive, even for you, to be dining out all the time."

Holmes chuckled, and to my great amusement, he winked at her. "Quite true, my dear lady. Mrs. Hudson, may I ask you a few questions, please, before you go?"

"Of course, Mr. Holmes."

"They may be difficult for you to answer, but I would wish that you be perfectly frank with me." Mrs. Hudson nodded her understanding and Holmes continued. "Did your older sister have a child within the past year?"

Mrs. Hudson looked utterly baffled at the man she regarded as her son. "Why yes, Mr. Holmes, she did but it died before anyone else had the chance to see it."

"Mmm, I see. And the middle sister, a Mrs. Carsdale I understand, did she have a child?" Holmes took a step closer to the landlady in his eagerness and put his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown.

"Why, yes, but it wasn't her own flesh and blood, you see. She and her husband only adopted him. But she would never tell from whom or where or why."

"Yes, I thought as much." Holmes closed the distance between him and Mrs. Hudson and put his long arm around her shoulders and gently took her into the room to finally reveal our charge to her. His face was that of a showman. He was enjoying the dramatic moment.

"Now, if I may have the very great pleasure of introducing you to your nephew," said he.


	8. Chapter 8

Well, Holmes and I managed to get Mrs. Hudson seated before her shocked nerves completely collapsed. While Holmes sat beside her, consoling her in his peculiar fashion, I occupied myself with young Peter. I wondered what would become of the little fellow now that Holmes had solved the mystery and would be, I had no doubt, anxious to be rid of the burden.

After some time it was decided that we would accompany Mrs. Hudson on Monday to her sister's home and restore Peter to his rightful parents.

Holmes was nervous and restless the remainder of the afternoon and that night he insisted on being the one to watch Peter.

I thought nothing of this until I was coming down to breakfast the next morning and I spied Lestrade at the bottom of the stairs. He was watching something in the sitting room from the doorway with great interest and was obviously amused by whatever he saw. I only hoped that Holmes wasn't trying an infernal experiment on Peter.

"What is it, Lestrade?" I asked as I joined him. I scanned the room for what was holding his attention; my eyes had not yet found Holmes or Peter.

Lestrade just chuckled before he answered. "Just look at what Mr. Holmes has gone and gotten himself into." He began.

I found them both then on the settee. Holmes was sprawled out asleep on it as best as he could be. Peter was sleeping contentedly on Holmes' chest.

"What a fine picture that would make." Lestrade commented. Then he paused as he thought. "You know," he continued, "if I had a picture of this fine scene, Mr. Holmes could hardly ever refuse to help me out now and then." He laughed again.

I was slightly put off by Lestrade's cavalier notion of Holmes' character.

"Why, that's blackmail, Lestrade! How could you even think such a thing?"

"Easy now, Doctor. I only meant that it would be amusing, not that I would be the one to actually do it."

Right then I suddenly had a moment of inspiration. "You know Holmes would never stand for it. If he knew that anything of the sort existed, you can be sure that he would use all of his powers to recover it. He is clever enough you know."

"Well, you have a point there, Doctor." Lestrade nodded in agreement. "How did a baby come to be here of all places?"

"A client, Inspector." I said a little coldly. If he wanted a better answer than that he would just have to ask Holmes himself because I wasn't about to try and explain the matter to Lestrade.

It was silent for a time while we watched the pair on the couch, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Once Peter whimpered and stirred under Holmes' hand. Unconsciously, Holmes moved his hand more protectively around Peter's small body. I had to smile at that fact.

"By the way," I said, recovering from my thoughts, "what are you doing here so early, Lestrade?"

"Well, I came to ask Mr. Holmes' advice about a strange murder case that I'm working on and can't find the head or tail of the devilish business." His voice grew lighter. "I imagined that I might have to rouse the man out of his bed, but never like this." This set him off into another spasm of laughter.

"Oh, really, Lestrade!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air and finally going into the sitting room.

I am going to write more, it is just taking a lot longer than I would like it to. Please be patient and I will try to write extra good for you. I have a few ideas in mind to end this story with. As always comments are most welcome.


	9. Chapter 9

I moved to my customary easy chair. Lestrade followed me into the room with a concerned look on his features.

"Aren't you going to wake him, Doctor?"

I hid my face behind my paper as I smiled at Lestrade's apparent cowardice. "You're the one who needs to ask his advice, not me."

"Yes, but…you're his…I mean, I'm not his…" Lestrade stammered.

"Brave enough?" I offered with another smirk.

The inspector was nettled. He straightened his posture haughtily. "Well, not exactly, Doctor. It's just that he's not used to me being…well, you know what I mean."

It really was amusing to see Lestrade flustered like this. "Yes. Still, I'm sorry, but you are going to have to be the one to wake him. As his flat mate, I have experienced how he is first thing in the morning. I'm not in a hurry to repeat it." I halfway turned my attention back to my paper, but I was interested to see what Lestrade would do. The inspector was obviously reluctant. To face a dangerous criminal and be brave was one thing but to disturb someone he respected so abruptly was another. Holmes was unpredictable at times.

Finally, Lestrade sighed in defeat and moved closer to the settee. "Mr. Holmes?" He called softly. Holmes only grunted in protest and turned his head in the other direction but didn't wake up. Lestrade reached out and shook the detective impatiently as he called a little louder, "Mr. Holmes? Come on, wake up now."

Holmes jumped up in surprise as he was suddenly awakened up. It would have been more amusing to observe had Peter not toppled off of Holmes' chest and towards the floor. Lestrade was too surprised to think fast enough to do anything and I was too far away. Holmes thankfully comes fully to when he is startled like that, so he managed to catch the lad before he made full impact with the floor. However, the experience did surprise and frighten Peter as well and he began to cry.

"Upon my soul, Lestrade, was that necessary?" Holmes snapped above Peter's cries. "It would serve you well if I left this entire business in your lap." He fumed.

"My lap is quite full enough as it is sir." Lestrede retorted. "And it's a pretty mess, no mistaking that. But that's what I've come to see you about, Mr. Holmes. I thought that you could come round and help me out a bit." Lestrede implored with what dignity he had left.

Holmes had passed Peter on to me to tend to while he fixed the lad's breakfast.

"So, you expect me to do your hard work for you?" Holmes had handed me the warmed up bottle which I was now feeding to Peter.

"Really now; I only meant that you should…" Lestrede began, but Holmes cut him off.

"Yes, yes; all in due course." He then turned his attention to me. "Has he had enough yet, Watson?"

I watched Peter before I answered. He was getting restless with the bottle so I assumed that he had had all he wanted. "Yes, I believe he has." I finally answered.

"Very good." Holmes said as he strode over to us. "Then let me have him."

I handed him over to Holmes and he began to gently pat Peter's back. As he did so, he paced about in front of the fireplace, seeming to forget that Lestrede was even there. Lestrede simply watched with mounting curiosity.

When Holmes had burped Peter a couple of times, he stopped pacing.

"Watson fed you. I burped you." He said to Peter as if he could understand and answer. "Now, who shall change you?" He then turned to face both of us. Again, I saw that same impish light in Holmes' eyes, and I knew what was coming. "Our friend, Lestrede, is the only one who has not tended to you yet, therefore, it's his turn."

That announcement brought some life back into Lestrede and his jaw dropped.

"Now see here, Mr. Holmes, I draw the line at having to see to young waifs." He complained. "I only came by to ask for your help. But if you're going to play games, then I'd best be on my way. Good day to you." He stormed towards the door but Holmes intercepted him.

"Now, now, Lestrede," Holmes said soothingly. "I promised you that we would get to your case in due order. However, certain things must be taken care of, and I will not leave things undone, no matter what they are. You will get your answers, Lestrede," Holmes smiled and handed Peter to the unwilling Inspector, "after you change him." Holmes stated with authority.

Then Holmes turned on his heels. "I haven't had my breakfast yet. Watson, ring for Mrs. Hudson." He began searching the pockets of his dressing gown and looking about the room for something. "Where the devil have I misplaced my pipe?"

I have mentioned before my friend's ability to detach his mind from something when he chose to, but never was it ever so amusing than that time. He seemed to really forget the gaping Inspector and his charge. Holmes was going about as if it were any other, normal morning. The only thing that gave away Holmes' false disinterest were his furative glances to Lestrede and Peter. After several minutes, Lestrede still hadn't moved. He was glancing from Peter to Holmes and back to Peter as if he couldn't believe what was happening. It shouldn't have surprised him all that much. Granted a child in this flat was unusual, however, Holmes was never ordinary about his ways.

"Oh, the cloths are just there on the mantle, Lestrede." Holmes offered innocently and pointed to a small stack of white cloths on the corner.

Lestrede looked to me for help but I held up my hands to silently tell him that I had had enough of that particular duty myself. Besides, who was I to interfere with Holmes' fun and games.

Holmes returned his attention to some papers that were laying on the desk. I watched a helpless Inspector try to figure out what to do.

After some time, Holmes slapped the papers down dramatically and strode over to where Lestrede was fumbling with the cloth.

"Honestly, Lestrede," Holmes said as he took the cloth and began methodically folding it. "If you handle your cases the way you do this diaper, then it's no small wonder that you're over here all the time, in over your head, and asking for advice or help of some kind."

"Well, it's not like the average criminal runs around in diapers, Mr. Holmes, so there's been no need to learn how to fix one." Lestrede informed him indignantly.

"Hmmm." Was Holmes' only response. He was concentrating on the cloth (otherwise I could imagine the smart remarks he might have made about the common criminal and diapers). However, he too was new to folding diapers and taking care of a child, but he would never admit that he had to in front of a member of the Yard.

Lestrede watched Holmes' careful movements with a certain amount of awe.

"Blimy, Mr. Holmes. How did you ever figure that one out?"

"Oh, there is no great mystery to it." Holmes said with smug satisfaction.


	10. Chapter 10final

For the remainder of the weekend, Holmes took the good inspector to the scene of the crime and explained to him the details of the Carsdale murders. In no time at all Monday found us traveling to the country and once again Holmes repeated the story for Mrs. Hudson, her sister and myself.

It seems that in his younger days, Mr. Carsdale was a member of an organized gang of some kind (Holmes wouldn't reveal the name). Anyway, this was how he intended to make his fortune. By the hand of Providence, Mr. Carsdale met and soon married Mrs. Hudson's middle sister, Caroline. Not being a hardened criminal yet, he quit his old life and began work in a nearby mill.

Now, Mrs. Hudson's youngest sister was 10 years her junior, but she was still in her 30's. She was having a difficult pregnancy and she almost lost her own life. In her anguish, she and her sister, and their husbands, invented the story of their child dying at birth (which was all too common in those days, especially with later pregnancies and would arouse no suspicions), and the Carsdale's would adopt at the same time. The plan might have worked, however, Mr. Carsdale's old associates wanted him to return to his old life. Trying to be an honorable man to his conscience and his new family, he refused. Thus, the gang kidnapped him, forced him to do their will one last time on the threat to his family, and then they murdered him anyway. And to make the job more complete they decided to kill his wife as well since she knew about them. But this gang didn't know about the child. So to save Peter's life and bring the proper attention to their disappearance, Mrs. Carsdale sent Peter away to another relative who would care for him and to a detective who would not rest until he had cleared up every point of the mystery. It was an ingenious plan on Mrs. Carsdale's part. However, the ruthlessness of the gang is something that Holmes couldn't abide and he vowed to bring them to the strongest justice.

And after a few hard words of reprimand and advice from Holmes, there was a moving scene of farewell between Peter and Holmes; both were reluctant to say goodbye. I do believe that Holmes was quite moved by the experience though he did his best not to show it. After handing over the clinging Peter to his rightful parents (Holmes had been holding him as he paced about the study where we were gathered to hear his remarkable tale, and Peter was fond of Holmes and didn't want to release him), Holmes cleared his throat a couple times, turned on his heels and stalked out of the room. I watched him as he paced across the front of the house, smoking his pipe. After several long minutes, he returned with more control of himself, and we took our leave. Mrs. Hudson stayed on to make sure things were attended to properly. I imagine she was pretty severe with her sister as well after we were gone.

In the carriage, Holmes became pensive and I could sense one of his black moods creeping on.

"I have never seen or heard the like of this business in all my life." He was muttering to himself. "I've seen it all now. To think that those two would dare call themselves parents is beyond me. To have a child and then send him away so thoughtlessly. To subject a defenseless child to such possible danger! To believe that young Peter could have..." His complaints were growing in volume and intensity.

"Ah, Holmes;" I commented innocently, "you're acting like a nerve-wracked father."

Holmes opened his mouth to make one of his sharp-witted comebacks and much to both our astonishment, nothing came. For the first, and last, moment of our long and happy association was I able to render the great Sherlock Holmes utterly speechless. I sat back in my surprise and satisfaction. Holmes clamped his mouth shut and drew himself up into a ball on the seat beside me, falling into silence and reflection. He never moved or spoke again until we returned to Baker Street.

It was several years later when I happened to meet Mrs. Hudson's sister and young Peter in the street outside our door. The family was doing well despite their rocky beginning together. Peter had grown considerably since I had last seen him. He was becoming a fine, intelligent lad. His mother told me that he was getting a good formal education and that Peter was anxious to one day meet his benefactor, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I was stunned to say the least. She explained that Peter knew about what had happened and how Holmes had set things right and then paid for his education. She then ask me to express her deepest appreciation to Holmes and her highest hopes that Peter and Holmes could meet again soon. I wondered how I was to do this, but I gave my word. After I took my leave I turned and looked up to the window of our sitting room. Holmes was standing there. I knew that he had seen and heard the whole thing so there was no need to try and keep my word. As I went inside and went upstairs I remembered Peter's mother commenting on Mr. Holmes' considerable generosity and how he must have a large, warm and caring heart. If she, if the world, only knew...

**The End**


End file.
